The wet continues… It’s rained almost every day since we entered Liberia. Not such a big deal on the tarmac, but get on any of the jungle pistes and you slow down to walking pace. We were still keen however to cross into Senegal using the more obscure route via the village of Mali. We were warned about the difficulty of this route and got a few disbelieving stares from passing motorcyclists coming the other way (cars have no chance during the wet season). 12 hours and 90km’s later we found ourselves at the Guinea border post, totally exhausted and looking like we’d been dragged through a swamp (head first)…

Formalities at the border were very friendly, but we could not get an exit stamp in our passports because the guy responsible for the stamp was on ‘vacation’! What seemed funny at first, turned out to be a pain in the ass when we got to the Senegalese side of the ‘fence’. Our not so friendly immigration officer was only looking for a reason to halt our progress and when he saw we didn’t have the Guinea exit stamp, he had his ‘ace’ up his sleeve. 2 hours later and utterely frustrated we agreed on a bribe of US$20 to avoid the 20km hike back to the Guinea border (where we wouldn’t get an exit stamp anyway). There was no customs office so our motorcycle papers were not checked and no entry permits issued. We hoped they wouldn’t be asked for at check posts.

The mud finally ended at Kedougou and we sailed on tarmac all the way to Tambacounda. A quick rest stop and then an easy ride east (in better weather) to Kidira on the banks of the Senegal River. Another tack left saw us following the river north, through really pictureque savanna dotted with huge baobab trees. We were heading towards the major border crossing at Rosso, but wanted to avoid it at all costs. It’s well known for corrupt officials and stories of overlanders paying US$150 in ‘entry/exit’ fees are not uncommon. Without entry permits for our bikes we would be like lambs to the slaughter. We knew of three or four border crossing prior to Rosso, but none that officially cleared motorbikes/vehicles. We had no option but to give it a go…

At our first try in Bakel, we were promptly turned back and directed to Rosso. Not a good start. Our next attempt at Matam went a lot smoother. The police officers were so shocked to see us that they just stamped our passports, smiled and directed us to the pirogue that would transport us across to the Mauritanian side. No customs and no paperwork. In fact, the cops only remembered about asking for a ‘gift’ once we were on the other side of the river and made a feeble attempt to request for one over the phone! On the Mauritanian side they were just as surprised but tried not to show it. Inspecting and accepting our now expired insurance receipts without a word. So again we have no temporary import permit for the bikes or valid insurance. Will this come back to bite us? We’ll see…

Only 60km separated us from Kaedi and asphalt all the way to Nouakchott. It would prove to be some of the most difficult km’s we’d have to push through. It had rained for three straight nights and the relatively easy sandy pistes had turned into mordor-like quagmires. We couldn’t keep our footing, let alone balance the bikes, and with the mud constantly building up around the wheels, we ground to a halt every few meters. With the sun falling over the horizon and Kaedi only 2km’s away, Kamil slipped on a muddy patch at speed and hit the ground hard. What was left of the patched up windscreen, was now shattered and useless…

Mauritania is surprisingly a lot more expensive than its neighbour Senegal. Food is practically twice the price and accommodation way out of our budget. In Kaedi the cheapest room we could find was US$40. We negotiated a spot for our tent for US$8 instead. Fuel can also be a problem. All the cars run on diesel (there are virtually no motorbikes) so supplies of petrol to towns are few and far between. We got cuaght out in Aleg and Kamil had to baacktrack 60km to the previous town in order to fill up.

The capital Nouakchott is nothing to write home about. A dirty, dusty place, full of rotting trash and roaming donkeys. Electricity is limited to only a few hours per day and… there’s NO BEER!!!